


Whisky Before the War

by EruditExperimenter, TheMonsterGhost, ZeNami



Series: Saboteur [7]
Category: Welcome to Desert Bluffs - Fandom, Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Abduction, Alcohol, F/M, Gen, Imprisonment, M/M, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-03-30 08:01:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3929128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EruditExperimenter/pseuds/EruditExperimenter, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMonsterGhost/pseuds/TheMonsterGhost, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZeNami/pseuds/ZeNami
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Best be on your way, but have a swig before you go.</p><p>Having overcome in-fighting and other apprehensions, the conspirators are poised to strike a dire blow to Strex.  On the eve of their war, Sergio does a final check with everyone before they set their plan into motion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Security won't bother us and I figure we could both use a breather. Join me on the roof for a bit to clear our heads? I imagine the effects of that ward can't be pleasant."

The voice, shaded with weariness, comes from the room’s entrance.  Looking up, the divine billionaire catches sight of a somewhat haggard-looking Sergio, the man uncharacteristically frayed around the edges.

Marcus groans, aggressively rubbing his face. “That’d be peachy, actually. Ugh. This room’s making me feel like I’m gonna puke my lungs out through my eyes.”

Nodding, Sergio inputs the access code to the room’s security system, Marcus acutely aware the moment it deactivates.

Practically heaving with relief as the disciple-tech comes down, the angel instantly feels that sickening pressure lift from his shoulders. He pushes one foot off the ground and hovers briefly, wings giving a lazy flap, just to feel that he could do that sans the sinking sensation. It really was numbing awful.

Remaining at the threshold, the former re-educator gives the angel a nod.  ”It’s a nice night out,” he says before pausing and producing a flask from his jacket, giving it a shake.  ”And frankly my nerves are at their breaking point.”

"No shit," he says, cocking a brow as he puts his feet back down—he’s barefoot but hardly seems to care, only wearing trousers and that red button-down half undone out of formality. He eyes the flask, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "Don’t suppose you’re sharing, suit?"

"Naturally.  I didn’t know whether or not you could still feel the affects of alcohol, but I figured I’d offer."

Tossing him the flask, he gives a nod for Marcus to follow, guiding him into the hallways up an access staircase that leads to the facility rooftop.  Stars twinkle out from an indigo sky shot through with swirling strains of lavender, the moon hanging a dully gleaming yellow above the desert landscape.  A breeze rises, stirring their hair and setting the feathers of Marcus’ wings to rustling, the dry, dusty scent of the desert mingling with hints of yucca.  

Once outside, Marcus stretches his wings out to their full span, eighteen feet of gold feathers back and up to fully appreciate the fresh air and the open space. He thinks about flying, but decides against it—it’d be too tempting to just leave. He reminds himself that he’s going to do something worthwhile here. It’s not a good time for apathy. This company had the gall to fuck with his town—his town—and he was going to stick around long enough to make sure they paid for it.

Marcus shrugs, taking a sniff of the flask’s contents before taking a swig. It’s good— a sweet and smoky whiskey with a smooth finish tasting of spices and honey.  It weighs on his tongue and leaves him thinking about the brushed brass handles and smoky mahogany of his favourite liquor cabinet at home, his collection of spirits from his travel abroad available for his perusal. He missed being home. That was probably the worst of it—not being able to fall asleep in one of his big, warm beds under his constellation ceilings, draped in Egyptian cotton and Persian silk and not thinking about anything important as he drifted to sleep to the sound of Night Vale’s wind howling (as it often did) outside his broad bay windows.

Sleeping is… difficult, here.

Walking across the rooftop, Sergio leans forward, forearms resting along the edge, gazing out over the almost otherworldly landscape of the desert night.

"I found my re-education files today," he intones flatly.  "I couldn’t bring myself to look them over.  Not right now, anyway.  With everything else going on, I figure the last thing I need is to let that shake me.  I’m half tempted to just destroy the damn things."  

Sighing, he reaches for the flask once Marcus has had his drink.

Approaching to hand Sergio the whisky, Marcus half-listens with the crease of a frown on his face. How much would it suck, he wonders, to find out you’d been screwing people over for that long? In a way, he kind of knew how it felt. Ever since his ascension he’d been developing something of a… well, a moral compass, maybe. Even if he didn’t feel much remorse for the things he’d done, he at least recognized the errors.

Maybe that was a start.

"I took some time to look it up, and I have living family members still,” the former re-educator murmurs.  “I’ve been wondering if I should contact them or just…"

Shaking his head, he takes a pull off the flask before offering it back to the angel.

"…I don’t know if I can do it.  I’ve done so many monstrous things and I don’t know if I could even bring myself to look them in the eye anymore.  I had a little cousin who was the world to me and…I just disappeared on her.  I was one of the only reliable things in her life, and then I vanished without a good bye one day; just another disappointing inconsistency."

Looking skyward, his shoulders sag, eyes distant.

"Beautiful sky tonight, though."

"Yeah, it is," the angel agrees, taking the flask back to sip at it while he stares up at that sky and thinks. He sets it down on the ledge next to Sergio and sighs, hopping up with a single beat of four wings and then sitting so his legs hang over the edge of the wall. He draws one up to tuck his bare foot against his opposite thigh, wings settling down and back, like a robe draped over the back of a seat.

"Listen, Suit," he sighs, finally, staring up at the stars he’s always loved so much. He can easily pick out Orion, and Cassiopeia, and Ursa Major. "I dunno much about family. Not really close to mine. At all. But they’re not gonna forgive you until you forgive yourself, first. You gotta know for sure that all the shit you did wasn’t what you wanted. If you can do that, then hell, you’re a step ahead of me." He shrugs, nonchalant. "Doubt I’m ever really gonna feel bad about my life, or anything I did to get where I am. But I’m selfish and I know it. I’m a complete person because I’ve accepted that it’s who I am, y’know? So I guess what you really wanna ask yourself is, who are you, Sergio?”  He glances toward the re-educator, his eyes dark, sombre. That look again.   “Who Strex made you out to be, or someone meant for more than that?”

Listening, Sergio can’t help but be struck by the astuteness of Marcus’ observations; the precise insight that cut through the tangle surrounding the heart of the matter.  Turning his gaze to the angel, he doesn’t try to mask the wonderstruck expression on his face; thoughts almost ringing aloud.  How much of the clueless, billionaire playboy thing is an act?  Sergio has always known it was, to some degree, a mask.  Play up the stereotype to your advantage - lull people into a false sense of knowing the playing field and then changing it up on them when they least expect it.  Heaven knew he’d used that in his own professional life more than a little.  It would be easy to write off Marcus’ perception as a recent development coincident with his ascension, but Sergio didn’t think the billionaire’s divine developments could be the sole source of his incisive views.

He opens his mouth to answer when Marcus’ gaze meet his; that look, such eyes, those words.  Again.  Again and again.  Sergio’s words jam up behind a sudden hitch in his breathing, eyes stinging at the unveiled glimpse into the infinite the angel levels at him; nothing intended for mortal viewing.  For a long moment he’s held transfixed, feeling small and vast, brave and weak, hard and tender all at once.  The desert night dwindles, the sound of the wind and stirrings of the evening’s denizens muffled away to nothing; replaced by a deep and resonant but not unpleasant roar of white noise.  If ocean waves were composed of nebulae and stars, washing in and out on the shores of dual universes entwined together through parallel eternities, perhaps that would be a closer description.  The world at the edges of his vision goes to cotton wool, for one dizzying second the man fearing he may pass out or dissolve entirely; the border of his identity shattered, its pieces cast up into the sky in a constellation to lay the whole of his life bare for all to see.  With an effort, he looks away, breath coming in a rattling gasp as if he’s risen from the bottom of a deep pool, the cool night rushing back in around him.

Whisking off his glasses with one hand, he runs the other over his face, fingers coming away slick with tears and sweat.  

“For heaven’s sake…” he manages, cradling his head in both hands for a moment.  Gathering himself, he breathes in through his nose, and out again through the mouth, the hum of stardust still ringing in his ears.  Shaking his head as if to dispel celestial cobwebs, he clears his throat before speaking.  ”No.  That’s not who I was and it’s not what I wanted.  Forgiveness for myself, however…that…may take me a long while to come to.”

Taking a long pull from the flask, Sergio allows the strength of the alcohol to more resolutely ground him and wash away visions of green eyes that swim before him; a tang of second hand impatience or disappointment clinging like a film upon his tongue.  Perhaps the angel had only meant to emphasize his point, but it seemed inappropriately exclamatory considering its recipient’s frail mortality.  Regathering himself, he looks to Marcus again; the expanse of his wings something the re-educator has not had a chance to fully appreciate until now when they are free to expand to their full extension.  A query that needled at him for some time now seems more feasible given present circumstances and, perhaps, the disinhibiting nature of their shared libation.

"…What was it like?  When you changed, I mean to say," he asked, offering the last of the whiskey to the angel.  "I never thought I’d get the opportunity to ask, but I confess I’ve been utterly plagued with curiosity about it."

A lot of the behaviour Marcus was known for was genuine—he really was a lazy, inconsiderate ass, with a penchant for blatant disregard of social etiquette, a vast degree of apathy for anything unrelated to himself, and a tendency to shrug off what might have been morally ambiguous business practices. At the same time, though, he was no idiot. He hadn’t gotten to the top of the golden mountain by being stupid—he knew what he was doing.

Also, despite his man-childish behaviour, he had a lot of life experience to fall back on. At 48 years young, he’d had his fair share of time to understand not only himself, but people going through some of the same developments that he’d walked through on his own.

So it’s with a steady calm in his features that Marcus watches Sergio’s face, fully expecting the reaction, but still half amused and half interested by it. He feels as if he’s prodding too much, maybe, but he can’t help it. It’s too easy.

Less easy is the answer to that question.

Marcus licks his lips, tasting the whiskey on his mouth; he downs the last of the flasks’s contents, allowing that warm burn to settle deep in his belly while he considers it. Emerald eyes flicker down, looking at his hands. The memory of the tingling in his fingertips as his digits spiraled and lost their substance comes back to him, and he rolls his shoulders uncomfortably—still, the alcohol is grease on his tongue, and he’s already saying something before he can reconsider sharing something of a thought of weakness with the ex-Strex Re-Educator.

"I thought I was dying," he admits, his voice quiet. the angel curls his fingers into his palm, like closing the eye he knows is hidden under his skin there. "I could barely breathe, and I couldn’t stop fucking crying… and it felt like fire, somewhere in here,” he says, touching his chest, “burning me up from the inside. But then, all at once, everything made sense, and I saw everything—through the void and the vastness of eternal desert and the lights and all… all that.” He shakes his head. “Or whatever. It’s hard to explain. It was like having my eyes opened. I spent so much of my life feeling like I had some great purpose. Like I was supposed to do something reallygoddamnimportant, but I kept forgetting. And putting it off. And wasting away, sleeping in, and getting old. And then I remembered… and it was like… I dunno. Waking up.”

Sergio straightens himself and listens quietly to Marcus’ description, noting the discomfort in his expression; the reticence diminishing off as he continues, rate of speech, and volume increasing, verdant eyes growing brighter.  As the billionaire continues, Sergio’s countenance turns grave, eyes unwavering, a knot forming in the pit of his belly at the description, his thoughts abruptly seizing at every emphasized word; mind staggering drunkenly through the explanation.

He wonders, distantly, if Marcus has ever told anyone else about this.

Blinking rapidly to banish the muddle of thoughts, Sergio takes a deep breath, eyes gazing out across the desert, allowing the words to sink in as he watches distant lights scattered over the sandy vistas, listens to the occasional whisper of a car as it winds its way through the night, its occupants perhaps never leaving again; drawn into the towns like an insect fumbling into a pitcher plant.  

"I never felt that way," he confesses.  "That I was forgetting the thing I was supposed to do or not working toward it.  I was conditioned to believe I’d known since as long as I could comprehend the notion.  Everything I did felt like it was designed to bring me closer to realizing this grand, distant destiny looming on the horizon, waiting to be seized and realized.  But now…"

He shrugs, a helpless noise thrumming in the back of his throat.

"…It’s gone.  Or else a new one is forming with all of this.  It is…difficult.  I feel out of my depth."

It was a new feeling and Sergio was finding he didn’t much care for it.

"It isn’t too late,” he blurted out.  “We can still back out of this.  We don’t have to strike a blow at StrexCorp.  We can just leave.  We, admittedly, may never get an opportunity to strike them at so vulnerable a juncture, but the risk is tremendous."

Marcus realizes that, in all simplicity, they are opposite in their paths.  He was directionless his whole life and had his purpose shown to him; Sergio had been sculpted for his purpose for years only to have it stripped away. He can only imagine how that feels—to suddenly not know what to do. Even grand and purposeful as he is, he sometimes finds himself looking at his face in a mirror, wondering what it is he’s supposed to do with this power.

Maybe it’s this. And it’s that thought that makes the billionaire shake his head, his face warm from the whiskey buzz in his belly.

He leans on the edge of the roof again, stretching his wings backward; the wind ruffles golden plumage, evening air spinning through his pinions and relaxing him. It feels good. He’s calm. He can do this. “Nah. We’ve come this far,” he says, shrugging, drumming ringed fingers on concrete. “We’re Big Damn Heroes now, Suit. With great power comes responsibility, or whatever. We could walk away, sure.”

He arches a brow, looking sidelong at his former enemy. “…but I don’t think we’re gonna sleep all that well at night knowing we could’ve done something. We don’t owe anyone here anything, but it’s not about… balancing the scale.”

Inhale. Exhale.

"It’s about doing the right thing."

Sergio watches the angel, meeting Marcus’ eyes when his gaze flicks in his direction.  In spite of everything, the former re-educator cannot help but feel a sense of ease welling up within him.  It almost makes him laugh aloud, considering how ridiculous the feeling is given their circumstances.  Even more so when he recognizes the root of the sensation; it’s how he feels in Ricardo’s presence.  That pervasive, all-encompassing calm that lets you feel things are alright, even if they aren’t.  That given a long enough timeline, everything comes out alright in the end, even if you aren’t present to see it.  The terminus is always, has always been, peace.  

Even now, even knowing what Ricardo has done to him - what he has taken - Sergio can’t help but reflect on the man in the same way.  The feelings he has on the subject are only a drop of water in a vast, still lake encompassing the entirety of who and what they are to themselves and each other; a leaf twisting on a tree caught in the wind.  Every sensation, the hurt, the betrayal, it is not denied, but it has a place in the greater whole; a bigger picture Sergio feels is there but cannot step back to see in its entirety.  The vastness far outstrips his own limited vision, and it frustrates him; makes him a child confounded by a puzzle.  He is caught up in things he cannot understand; a piece in a game to which he does not quite know the rules.  Even as they plot the downfall of this company, in the back of his mind, Sergio cannot shake the impression that somewhere, unseen, Ricardo is watching all of this transpiring with a patient, paternal gaze.

The right thing.

And as limited as Sergio feels, he wonders, bewildered, if the Angelic billionaire beside him whom he has always written off with scorn, could survey the greater view that the suited man could not.

"…You’ve changed.  Not just the wings and the eyes and halo.  It really does go beyond skin deep."

"I know. It’s disgusting, isn’t it?" Marcus snorted, rolling his ringed fingers against his opposite wrist with a wry smirk. "Listen to me. I sound all high and mighty and righteous. It’s like, instinct, or something. Wish I knew how to go back to being a careless jerk."

In some ways, he really did. He wanted to back to his ignorant bliss, pouring his money into his whims, lounging around in red silk and expensive swimming pools and luxurious paintings purchased from museums. At the same time, though, he knew he never could. This had changed him, irrevocably—and it was probably for the better. Maybe now he had the potential to be a better man. The kind of man Jake deserved. The kind of man who didn’t let people down.

He really didn’t want to let anyone else down anymore. Not even Sergio.

He straightened, cracking his knuckles, and started to walk back toward the door; the open air felt so good. He could have stayed out here for hours, but… “We’d better get some rest, or we’re gonna be dead on our feet at the worst time,” he suggested, walking backwards a couple of paces as he spoke to the ex-re-educator. “I think you should talk to your brother, or your double, or whatever he is. Make sure this is what he wants, too. I figure we can’t have anyone second-guessing at this point. Y’know?”

Flashing Sergio one of his bastard grins, he spun on his heel, folding his wings in as he approached the door. “Wake me up when we’re gonna get this party started. I’m gonna go make a void bubble to sleep in.”

Sergio nodded, trusting that whatever a void bubble was, his calling Marcus could reach the angel in their time of need.

Sleep.  It almost seemed laughable, but it was true - the last thing they needed was to be dull-witted for this endeavor.

"Rest well.  I’ll do my best to do the same."

Luc.  He’d already planned on speaking to his multiple; the words running over in his head quite similar to the ones he’d just had with Marcus.

They could run, if they wanted to.  They would miss the opportunity to strike so dear a blow, but they could all be safe.  And yet, if there was even a grain of apprehension, Sergio did not feel the plan was viable.  They were on a wing and a prayer as it was.

One vote of confidence down, though.

Let’s see about having a second.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Marcus committed to the cause of bringing down Strex, Sergio checks in with Jake to assure the PA is still on board and go over the details of the jail break

"Are you holding up alright? I know this is something of a change from your initial arrangement."

Jake had been brought to a private room where he was seated before Sergio Vega, the former re-educator giving him an apologetic look.  

“I’m holding up fine, sir,” Jake said, taking a seat. “It’s somewhat luxurious compared to being handcuffed to a bedpost in a cheap motel just outside of Detroit.”

When he’d initially been captured, Jake had was situated in a sumptuous, veritable gilded cage.  The move to the general holding cell area, however, was far removed from luxury.  The PA was dressed in a jumpsuit of such a vibrant yellow you could practically hear it from across a room.  His holding cell was a solitary affair with a toilet and sink, a bed with a flat, foam mattress, pillow, and a covering that might generously be called a blanket that had all the substance and weight of a coffee filter.  There was, however, as Sergio had told him, an entertainment unit set into the wall.  

Ordinarily Jake had access to a limited number of videos whose subjects generally centered around how he could improve his productivity and efficiency while working for Strex as well as helpful hints on how to make the best of his Re-education.  With some of the access codes given to him by Sergio, however, the PA could create an administrative account which he could grant super-user access and scoot about most of the company intranet at will.  There were, Jake found, still areas he could not access, but they were very few and far between.  While this sort of tampering ordinarily would have been picked up by the security camera in the cell, every night at nine o’clock precisely, looping footage would come online and anyone looking at it would find Jake sleeping innocently on his comfortless bed until six o’clock the next morning when the prisoners were woken for the day.  Among the things Jake had access to were files concerning every prisoner who shared the holding cell area with him.

People who, if everything went according to plan, he would be breaking out very soon.

"I wanted to touch bases with you and see what you thought of some of the potential escapees.  I trust your judgement completely on whom you wish to bring with you.  Once I know how many you wish to take, I can give the final order for the ground transport that will take them safely back to Night Vale."

Jake had always possessed a fairly “cold” heart. The change to a heart that was literally part machine only served to hammer that fact in. From the start, Jake decided he would be fairly selective of whom to save and whom to leave behind. If, by some marginal chance, he discovered it would be easy and beneficial to attempt to save everyone, he would think about crossing that bridge.

Of course, given his situation and the security in StrexCorp, such a hopeful plan was immediately tossed aside. Jake selected a handful of faces, people with talents and abilities and fairly level heads. It was only very tentatively that he chose anyone with any extensive re-education.

Clearing his throat, Jake waved his hand about the air just beside his temple, a habit picked up from his employer. He snapped his fingers twice before asking, “Ah, is there anyway I could discuss this over a coffee? I don’t even care if it’s instant, at this point.”

Sergio couldn’t help but smile a bit at the adopted affectation.  Without the fog of disdain concerning Vansten hanging over his thoughts, he found that he’d come to quite like the couple - they complemented one another well.  

Nodding at the request for coffee, Sergio tapped a command into his smart phone, a biomechanical employee entering the room moments later with a laden tray.  There was coffee, cream and sugar in cut crystal containers, scones fragrant with basil and strawberries, sugar-crusted almonds, and sliced bosc pears blushed in their pale centers with just a touch of red wine.

When the employee entered the room, Sergio’s body language shifted; the lines of sympathy and earnest concern replaced with something definitively more predatory and serpentine.  His dark eyes drained of warmth, his smile knife-like.

"Thank you kindly," he said to the employee before dismissing them with a nod.  "If we require anything else I will let you know."

Once they’d left, Sergio turned back to Jake, the re-educator he’d summoned from within himself evaporating.

"I figure you could use a little something to help you feel more like yourself.  Few things are half so affirming as a decent meal."  He gestured to the spread.  "Please take your time.  I know this has all been incredibly trying."

Jake felt a chill run down his spine at the sight of Sergio’s shift in face. Even when the man had been assisting in pulling Jake’s heart from his chest, there was a certain air of pleasantry about Sergio. To see him go so cold was both fascinating and terrifying. Jake reminded himself to never underestimate the man offering him coffee.

Dark eyes fell onto the spread and Jake felt his stomach twist with want. Normally, he would only partake the bare minimum out of politeness but “prison” food was a punch to the throat when compared to Jake’s usual meals. “I sincerely hope you don’t mind if I do, sir,” said Jake, helping himself to the coffee and a scone.

"If you’re still hungry or want something in particular, just say the word and it’s done," Sergio replied simply, heartened to see Jake setting to the little meal in earnest.  The re-educator made up a cup of coffee for himself, taking a slice of pear as well.  "Keeping your thoughts straight under this kind of stress is difficult.  If I can help in any way, just say so."

As he stirred a single cube of sugar into his coffee, Jake asked, “Before we get started on discussing the persons whom I plan on assisting, I was wondering… Is there anyone you specifically had in mind? People of priority?”

He sipped his coffee and could hardly hide his appreciation, eyes fluttering shut and a soft hum escaping his lips.

Sergio drummed his fingertips along the tabletop, quietly considering.

"There’s one woman who should be a help to you.  Her name is Cerise Carroll.  She worked in town for a time and was an artist who created the living tattoos you see on many of the citizens here.  Her own skin appears to be alive with them, however, they are, in fact, a symbiotic entity she’s housing within her body that manifests itself outwardly as those images.  They can allow her to do…considerably more than that, as well, if she is put under great duress.  She is the person responsible for the bar codes," Sergio explained, tapping the back of his neck, "we use on our employees.  They are linked through her to certain surveillance and command systems.  As such, we need her to be more cognizant than many of our other employees.  Therefore, she has undergone minimal re-education and goes through cycles of medication instead of having a steady dose.  Presently she should be completely lucid.  I’ll be transferring her to your cell.  She has been informed of what is to happen and while she is skeptical, I think she believes me.  Her connection to the other escapees via their bar codes should help keep them together and directed.  It can only go so far, but it should help limit rampant panic and keep straggling at a minimum."

He waved a hand, giving Jake a sheepish look.

"This probably all doesn’t make a great deal of sense at present, but when you meet Cerise I think much of it will become clear."

Jake considered the name for a moment, chewing thoughtfully on his scone. Cerise Carroll. Yes; he’d come across that name. Funnily enough, he recalled designating her useful enough to save but a lower priority. If he’d had the time to commit more details to his memory, he’d probably have set her higher up on his list. But that was what Sergio was here for, wasn’t it?

"She sounds immensely helpful and I look forward to working with her," said Jake. "I am assuming I can trust her to look after herself for the most part? Or does she need steady direction?”

“She should be fine on her own,” Sergio assured him.  “As I said, this is a lucid time for her so she should be more of an asset than a liability.”

Jake pondered the modest meal for a second. He thought about asking for something from Crisp, his favorite Korean restaurant… But perhaps another time. He decided he would treat Sergio on a day they could find the time.

"If she was skeptical of you, how easily do you believe she’ll trust me?"

Sergio let out a mirthless chuckle.

“She…is a bit of a character, but she’s quite perceptive - comes of her former and…well present trades, as well, I suppose.  She knew something was ‘off’ about me the moment she laid eyes on me, to say nothing of the oddity that I would be the one to be paying her a visit.  Cerise is valuable to Strex, but her care is typically delegated to other employees.  In any case, I don’t anticipate there being a problem with her trusting you.  Just be honest with her and things should go as smoothly as they can given the circumstances.”

He exhaled slowly, looking Jake in the eye.

“If you have any misgivings about this, Jake, let me know now and we’ll call this whole thing off - we’ll just leave.  We don’t have to strike this blow.”

Jake smiled, a thin and humourless upturn of the lips. He said, “We do though.”

He place a hand on his chest where he could still feel the scar healing. His fresh, biomechanical heart was beating steadily in his flesh and blood chest. Looking at Sergio now, seeing the lucidity that had been hiding behind eyes clouded by light, Jake knew something had to be done. Jake didn’t know who Sergio was without re-education but he figured it couldn’t be anything worse than the man who showed Marcus the open chest cavity of his boyfriend after having just removed his heart…

"No misgivings," said Jake. "I’m ready. And for what it’s worth, I’m confident. Marcus is a dumbass but he’s a dependable dumbass. I trust in your assessment of Ms Cerise. And I trust in the brilliance of Mr Silva and yourself. I have little doubt that we can pull this off. So… let’s get to work."

Sergio nodded, fingers together on his lap, expression stern.

"Alright.  That makes all of us, then."

Looking to Jake, his expression softened.

"I know I’ve said it before, but truly, Jake - I am sorry.  I wish I could take back what I have done to you.  Please know that once all of this is done, I am ever at your disposal.  Jake, I want you to know I greatly admire you.  Your resourcefulness, tenacity, and perseverance are singular.  Another place, another time…"  He shrugged, sighing.  "Know that I hope we can continue to work together in the future.  Perhaps I can find a way to give you back a purely biological heart."

Jake raised a hand to his chest level and shook his head. “I make it my business to work with intelligent people, despite how it seems. I’m sure we’ll work together again. We’re going to survive and we’re going to move forward.”

He placed his hand over his heart, giving a small shrug of his own. “That means not looking back. Don’t worry about this.” He gave his chest a pat, “If I’m going to stick around long enough to keep Marcus out of trouble, I’m going to need all the help I can get. Avoiding a heart-attack before reaching midlife is a relief.”  With a grin he added, “I suppose I should be thanking you.”

For a beat, Sergio gaped at the other.  Recovering, laughter bubbled up from him.  "Yes, I suppose you’re in for a trying time so long as you’re working with Vansten."  He shook his head with a knowing smile.  "Well, in that case, I suppose we’re done here.  Use the intranet to contact me if anything comes up.  Otherwise, when it’s time to go…you’ll know."

He gave the other a nod.

"Thank you, Jake.  Hopefully the next time I see you, we’ll all be laughing about this over a drink.  Take your time with your food.  Once you’re done, security will escort you back to your cell.  Cerise should be joining you shortly."

Getting to his feet, he gave the PA one last nod before turning and leaving the room with a little wave over his shoulder.

"Be seeing you."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Ricardo Vega was created and developed by timeanddivision.tumblr.com and rosylocks.tumblr.com and can be found portrayed at: strexcorpsguardian.tumblr.com and strexcorpking.tumblr.com (deactivated)  
> Luciano Silva was created by zenami.tumblr.com and can be found portrayed at: smilingindoctrinator.tumblr.com  
> Jake Lin is WNTV canon character whose interpretation and portrayal on which this work is based was developed by themonsterghost.tumblr.com and can be found portrayed at: mrvanstensbitch.tumblr.com  
> Marcus Vansten is a WTNV canon character whose interpretation and portrayal on which this work is based was developed by zenami.tumblr.com and can be found portrayed at: marcusgoddamnvansten.tumblr.com  
> Daniel Vega is a WTNV canon character whose interpretation and portrayal on which this work is based was developed by zenami.tumblr.com and can be found portrayed at: synernist-supervisor.tumblr.com  
> Sergio Vega was created by and can be found portrayed at: eruditexperimenter.tumblr.com


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